


A Most Unsuitable Arrangement

by theSapphireSky



Series: The Detective and the Pathologist [23]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angsty too, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Sooo cliche, victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-22 10:51:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8283247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: Forced into an arranged marriage, Sherlock has taken his new wife very much for granted. Will he realise his own heart before he loses her forever?





	1. Chapter 1

Watson snorted and jolted awake, running a hand over his face. 

‘Please tell me that we have arrived,’ the doctor grumbled.

‘Just about,’ Holmes replied, not looking away from the passing London streets. The early morning fog wound around each building as their carriage rolled along the cobblestone.

‘Our wives will certainly be glad for us to be home,’ Watson remarked idly. ‘Though she never wrote it in her letters, Mary did hint at being worried about us.’

Holmes hummed distractedly. 

‘How did Mrs Holmes seem? Married not yet three months and you called away for a case in Scotland. I can’t imagine it was an easy decision for you to take it.’

‘Why would it not be?’ Holmes finally turned and looked at his friend, a frown on his face. ‘I agreed to this marriage arrangement under the condition that she understand my work comes first.’

Watson shook his head. ‘She’s your wife, Holmes. You need to understand that now there is another person in that little world you inhabit and you need to have a care how you treat her.’ He furrowed his brow in thought. ‘Did you write to her at all during this case? Reassure her of your safety?’

Holmes rolled his eyes. ‘How many times must I tell you, when I am on a case, I have no need for distractions, especially of the ‘marital’ kind. She knew this when she agreed to the arrangement.’

‘Bloody hell, Holmes! A whole month without a word from you? You never sent her a letter or anything? Not so much as a telegram? She must think you dead!’

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Watson.’ Holmes waved him off. ‘If she were so inclined to think so, I am sure either my brother or your wife would assure her of my continued existence. Why should I be expected to waste valuable time doing such an unnecessary, domesticated chore?’

Watson gaped at him, then grimly shut his mouth and shook his head. ‘You’re a fool, Sherlock Holmes. A bloody fool.’

oOo

It was just past 7 when Sherlock strode through the front door of his Baker Street home. Having dropped Watson off at his house beforehand and witnessing Mrs Watson rush outside to welcome her husband home with a warm smile and open arms, Sherlock had spent the remaining ten minutes ride fighting down an unfamiliar sense of foreboding and the stranglehold of guilt.

Perhaps he should have taken a moment or two during the case to send word to his own wife. He barely knew her beyond what Mycroft had told him when he’d drafted the contract, but as their first few months of marriage passed he found himself contemplating the mystery of her. Shy, a bit bumbling, not at all the sort of woman he’d expected his brother would force him to marry. But the inheritance her late father had left her, on the condition of her marrying, was enough to keep him happily solving crimes until a ripe old age, should he live to see the day. And she would be free to do…. well, whatever it was a woman of society did. Embroidery, gossip, and other such ridiculous frippery, he’d assumed, bracing himself for a life of mindless chittering. 

Yet, to his surprise, she had slid into his life with ease, leaving him to his experiments and cases, but nearby with a cup of tea or some bread before he knew he needed it. She quietly read or scribbled in that journal of hers while he sojourned into his Mind Palace. She listened as he talked himself through his cases and experiments. She offered the occasional question that, on more than one instance, had led him to the right conclusion.  

She had been perfectly attuned to what he’d needed in a companion. But truth be told, he knew very little of her. And until this moment, he’d never considered it a bad thing. 

Tossing his coat over the banister, he strode down the hall. Upon entering the lounge, he found it practically undisturbed from how he’d left it. His violin rested on the table, his music sheets scattered haphazardly about, his books and notes on his experiments were in disarray on the coffee table. 

Nothing in the room spoke of another person living here. In short, there was nothing to warrant the growing sense of unease in his gut. His wife’s things were relegated solely to her room and her timidity prevented her from encroaching on what she considered his space. Yet there was something amiss in the empty room that sent a foreboding rolling over him.

Sherlock spun on his heel and made for the stairs, taking them two at a time. The door at the top was cracked open and he shoved it open, letting it bang against the wall, and came to dead stop.

He had not been upstairs since they’d been married. The only time they had shared a room, his bed, had been their wedding night. But he had slipped out while she slept. When she came to him the next morning and said she would take the upper room for herself, he had assumed she was as uncomfortable with their arrangement as he was and wanted her own space.

His heart pounded and his hands clenched into fists at his side as he took in the room: bed was made and hadn’t been slept in for at least four nights and a thin layer of dust had settled on the nightstand and bureau. He stormed over to the wardrobe and flung open the doors, staring in growing horror at the empty rack. 

She hadn’t given him space because it was what she wanted; no, she’d done it because she thought it was what he had wanted. 

Watson had been correct.

He was a fool.


	2. A Most Surprising Realisation

She’d left.

He had pushed her away and gotten what he’d wanted; a solitary life.

She had not left even a note. Just an empty wardrobe, an empty room.

_An empty life._

He was surprised by the sudden thought. But as he turned it over in his mind, he realised that that was how he felt. He looked around the room and the feeling of loss in his chess worsened.

He lowered himself onto the small bed and wondered when what he wanted had changed.

He had left on the case three weeks ago perfectly content with his life. Molly had barely flitted into his peripheral, yet her sudden absence when he returned had shaken his world. To his surprise, he began to realise that, though he had not often outwardly acknowledged her presence, she had made herself invaluable to his way of life.

He needed her.

He frowned.

No.

He _wanted_ her.

She had fit into his life in a way he never expected; quietly and patiently. Looking back, he saw now the brightness in her eyes, the intelligence that he had never let himself acknowledge. He had looked upon her as simply a means to an end, one step up from his skull in terms of talking companions. And his ignorance to just how important she was to him was rooted in fear. That he would come to care for her and fall prey to a weakness he could not afford.

Yet she had done what he had tried to make impossible and wound her way so intricately into his life, and his heart, that her leaving had ripped open a wound that he did not think could ever be stitched closed.

The sudden realisation of his feelings… and the loss his blindness, no, his _cowardice_ , had cost him… was suffocating and he dropped his head into his hands with an aggravated shout.

From below, the door to the loud London streets opened and closed. A familiar cadence of steps sounded up the stairs, continuing up to the upper level. The tip of an umbrella passed in front of Sherlock’s view and he raised his head.

‘Hello, brother dear.’

‘Where is she?’ Sherlock demanded without preamble.

Mycroft looked over his brother. With a raised eyebrow, he sat down beside Sherlock and rested his hands atop his brolly’s handle. ‘She is staying with Anthea and myself. Until this evening.’

Sherlock looked over, the knot of dread in his stomach tightening.

‘She is to leave on the night train for her mother’s estate in Manchester. She intends to remain there for the duration of your marriage. Should you choose to divorce, I shall see to it that the both of you have no damage to your reputations and the financial contract is dissolved.’

The ache in his chest threatened to overwhelm him and Sherlock quickly stood, pacing away from his brother to hide the sudden burn of tears.

‘However,’ Mycroft continued in a soft tone. ‘She is willing to consider another option.’

Sherlock held his breath.

‘A ruse, as it were. You and she will remain married, but in name only. With the exception of the occasional social outing, no more than four times each year, for appearance’s sake, she will remain in Manchester and you will lead your separate lives.’

Sherlock spun around and fought against the horror welling up inside at his brother’s words.

‘You will continue to have access to her monthly stipend, but you are to have no contact with her whatsoever apart from previously stated social outings.’ Mycroft stood and brushed off his trousers. ‘Those are the choices she has laid out for you, brother mine.’

A crushing weight threatened to suffocate him. Sherlock stumbled back a step and hit the wall.

_No. No, I can’t lose her. Not when I’ve just found out what she means to me!_

Mycroft stood and walked toward the door. When he stood just beside Sherlock, he paused. ‘However…’

Sherlock looked over at him, only a thin thread of hope holding him together.

Mycroft kept his gaze fixed firmly ahead, but the lines around his eyes softened. ‘She cares for you. If you were to properly make amends and open your heart to the possibility that you might come to love your wife, I believe you will be able to convince her to return.’

Sherlock considered his brother’s words. Could he see himself falling in love? Being a true husband, in every sense of the word?

The image of Molly sitting on the settee, listening happily as he rattled on about a case or experiment, the small smile on her face, as if she was truly happy, flitted across his mind.

Yes. Despite his doubts and previous scorn of love, he could easily see himself coming to love his wife. And in his heart, he knew he was already falling.

‘Will you take me to her?’

Mycroft tilted his head. ‘Yes. But if she refuses you…’

Sherlock laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder and Mycroft turned to him. ‘I will accept it as the consequence of my actions. But I refuse to let her go without doing everything within my power to convince her to stay.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo.... yeah.
> 
> Turns out this is going to be a 3-parter. This got waaay too long, so I had to split it. This section is relatively short, but the last part is getting quite looooong. :) (Plenty of Sherlock groveling, perhaps???) 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for the kudos and comments and love!


	3. A Most Repentant Fool

The morning fog was lifting, revealing a shimmering dew in the rising sunlight. The hem of her light gown was damp, but Molly paid it no mind as she walked across the yard. As it had been for the previous mornings of her stay, she had awoken early, wrapped herself in a shawl to ward off the chill and slipped outside. Mycroft’s estate was one of the largest in the area with roaming gardens and pathways. But Molly preferred the unkempt hillside on the western edge.

As the fog faded she could see for miles. The morning sun rose behind her and slowly the shadowed land grew in light.

Yet despite the calm surrounding her, Molly’s thoughts were in turmoil.

Her marriage was a sham. Not uncommon, as many couples were together simply for financial or strategic reasons, their marriages filled with anything but love. But Molly had always hoped that she would be one of the lucky few to marry for love.

She scoffed and wiped away a tear.

She wasn’t sure what was worse. Being contracted into marriage with a stranger.

Or falling in love with him knowing he would never give her a second glance.

She had lived in his peripheral for months. All her attempts to fit into his life only made her fade into the background, like the wallpaper in his home. Unless he actually sat down and focused on her, it was as if she ceased to exist in his mind.

And when he suddenly disappeared for weeks, her worry led her to inquire after his friend, Dr Watson. His wife, Mary, with soft sympathetic eyes, had reassured her that their husbands had left for Scotland, of all places!

It was in that moment that she realised she truly meant nothing to her husband.

Heartbroken, she had packed her few belongings and left Baker Street. It wasn’t home, it never had been and never would be. Head held high, she had made her way to the train station with every intent to return to her mother’s home in Manchester.

Waiting for her at the station was her brother-in-law and his wife. They had encouraged her to stay with them for a time as it had been a long time since she had been to visit.

She knew they hoped to convince her to stay in London and had hesitated to accept their offer. But in the end, her fondness for the couple overruled her desire to flee immediately, and they had enjoyed a lovely week together with no mention of her husband, though she had caught Mycroft watching her with a determined frown more than once. He had been kind enough to keep his thoughts to himself, a trait his brother lacked.

But now she had come to the end of her welcome. It was time for her to cut the ties that bound her to London, to a one-sided marriage, and move on.

The sound of someone walking through the tall grass behind her pulled her from her thoughts and she turned. The brightness of the sun momentarily blinded her and she narrowed her eyes at the silhouette in the distance.

Her breath left her in a rush when she realised it was her husband was coming toward her. The sun shone behind him and gave him an unearthly aura. As he got closer, she could make out the reddish hues in his unkempt curls and she found herself admiring the roguish look he exuded with his partly unbuttoned shirt and flapping coat.

She flushed in embarrassment when she remembered she hadn’t put her hair up or put on perfume. But then, he had never seemed to notice whether or not she had made an effort with her appearance, so she lifted her chin slightly and pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, crossing her arms in front of her.

If he had come here to convince her to return, she would stand her ground.

And if he had come to agree to a divorce, she would barricade her heart and not let him see a single tear.

oOo

How could he have not realised it?

With the soft light of the morning sun gracing her face, golden strands shimmering in her unbound hair, she was beautiful. He glanced down at her hand and a rush of relief swept over him to see she still wore the simple wedding band he’d placed on her finger at their wedding.

_She still cares. There is still hope for me to fix this._

Sherlock came to a stop just out of arm’s reach. They stood in silence for a few moments, neither sure what to say.

Knowing the burden of speech fell to him, Sherlock clasped his hands behind him and cleared his throat. ‘I understand you intend to return to Manchester.’

Molly breathed in deeply and lifted her chin higher. If she was surprised by his abrupt, to-the-point statement, she did not show it. ‘There is nothing for me here.’

_Yes. Yes, there is._

‘You seek a divorce, then?’ _Please, give me a sign that you care for me, that I can convince you to stay._

She clenched the fabric of her shawl and he didn’t miss the forced bravado in her voice as she replied, ‘If that is what you want.’

‘No!’ He burst out in a panic. Her eyes widened in surprise and he flushed at the vehemence of his declaration. They stared at each other in stunned silence for a moment.

‘No,’ Sherlock softened his tone and his expression. ‘I don’t want that at all.’

Molly’s face contorted with anger. ‘Then what do you want?’ She cried out, throwing her arms out in frustration.

Sherlock stepped back in surprise. He had never before seen her lose her temper and it was a sight to behold! Her eyes blazed bright and the apples of her cheeks burned red with fury. All this time, she had been treading softly around him, afraid to upset the status quo, yet trying to build a life with him. Now she had nothing left to lose.

_What was that saying...? Ah, yes_. 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.'

‘What do you want of me?’ She exclaimed. ‘Tell me! Because I tried my best to fit into your life, to make the transition easier for you. And you never noticed me; I know neither of us wanted this arrangement, but I tried to make it work.’

His stomach clenched and shame washed over him.

‘Then you went away to _Scotland_ without even bothering to let me know you were _alive_ and I realised I’m barely a housemaid to you, let alone a wife. And now you say you don’t want me to leave and you look at me as if I suddenly matter to you!’ Her eyes glistened with angry tears. ‘You are the _most_ confounding man I have ever had the misfortune of meeting, Mr Holmes! So tell me, what is it you want of me?!’

‘You!’

Her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise at his declaration. Sherlock’s heart broke at the hurt and sadness and anger he’d caused her. Cautiously, he stepped closer and took her hand. She flinched at his touch, but did not pull away.

‘I want you.’ In every softly-spoken word, he tried to convey every ounce of regret and hope he felt in that moment. He swiped a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. ‘I have been an unforgivable fool. And I can only hope and pray that you will do the impossible and forgive me.’

Disbelief and wariness were writ across her face, but he could see the vulnerable hope in her eyes.

He glanced at her lips, the longing he felt for her rushing over him in a sudden wave, and he slowly bent down, giving her time to pull away. His heart filled with joy when she didn’t move and when his lips touched hers, she let out a soft whimper and her eyes fell shut. Her hands came up and curled around his lapel as she shyly returned his kiss.

For a second, his heart stopped and an anticipatory calm stopped his racing mind.

Then suddenly all his senses were aflame. He could feel her heartbeat against his fingertips and the taste of her was a promising addiction. The soft feel of her lips sent a surprisingly delightful sensation of shivers down his spine and a warmth suffused his chest, like the comfort of a warm fire on a cold London night.

It hadn’t been like this before. Their wedding night had been impersonal, dutiful, and as cold as the act could be.

He inwardly cursed himself for his blindness in overlooking the woman in his arms. This beautiful, intelligent, warm creature was his _wife_ and he almost lost her.

Here, with her in his embrace, was home.

Overwhelmed, Sherlock broke the kiss, but kept his face near hers and took several deep breaths to center himself. Her eyes were closed and she sighed softly before looking up at him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Please stay. Give this fool another chance.’

She swallowed and searched his face. Her brow furrowed endearingly in thought and he found himself holding his breath as he waited for her to speak.

Then, to his dismay, she stepped back, her hands trailing briefly down his chest before she moved out of his reach. She swallowed thickly and looked down at her hands. Her fingers played with her wedding ring. She twisted the metal band three times and to Sherlock each turn was another twist of his heart.

‘If I stay,’ she began cautiously, ‘things have to change.’ She looked up at him, her eyes resolute. ‘I won’t be relegated to a background accessory used only when needed and ignored the remainder of the time. I will be an equal in this marriage.’

He coloured in shame and nodded. ‘I can’t promise I won’t revert back to my old ways at times; I have never before courted a woman and am woefully unpracticed in the art of romance. I may require some reminders and assistance at times, but I will try to be the husband you deserve. Now that I realise I want to be one,’ he added with a quick smile.

Hope flared in his heart when she smiled a little in response.

‘I’d like to court you, Molly Holmes. Properly. And show you that your heart will be safe with me, as I know mine will be with you.’ He moved toward her and took her hand, holding it against his chest so she could feel the pounding of his heart. ‘So what say you? Will you come home to me?’

She bit her lip and considered him, her thoughts practically screaming at him. He fought against the urge to grimace, sure that her logical conclusion would be to not even try. He was a pitiful excuse of a romantic and would surely fail to be the husband she deserved, but he would do everything in his power to try.

‘Yes.’

Time seemed to stop as her soft answer fell between them.

‘Yes?’ He breathed.

She smiled softly and nodded. ‘Yes.’

His breath left him in a rush of relief and he leaned down to rest his forehead against the crown of her head. She slipped her hand from beneath his and hesitantly wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his chest. Sherlock smiled. He could quite easily become accustomed to the way she fit perfectly in his embrace.

He had a long way to go earning her trust and her heart, but he’d made the first step.

They may have been broken, but they were not beyond repair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the deal. I wrote three different endings.
> 
> This was the original ending and the one I am most satisfied with. 
> 
> The others are either emotionally devastating or inexplicably cheesey. I may add one or both in later on as an alternate ending... maaaybeeeee.
> 
> Anyway, I hope I made the right choice and you are all satisfied with the ending! It's hard to write a repentant Sherlock without having Molly crumble right away (I mean, who wouldn't crumble at those eyes and cheekbones and gravely voice?!)
> 
> Thank you all for reading and for your lovely words of encouragement! It's been fun! :)
> 
> Love you all!  
> Sky
> 
> PS: Thanks to Bellarsam Chrisjulittle! Totally forgot to make a note of the Pride and Prejudice-inspired scene right in the middle there! (Imagine Mr Darcy striding toward Elizabeth through the dewey, foggy morning... *sighs*) Maybe I shouldn't watch movies whilst writing. :)

**Author's Note:**

> This is just going to be a quick 2-parter. :)


End file.
